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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22696825">We are Chaos</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noendinsightasofyet/pseuds/Noendinsightasofyet'>Noendinsightasofyet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors, Warhammer Fantasy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Multi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:13:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,674</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22696825</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noendinsightasofyet/pseuds/Noendinsightasofyet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you ever felt like destroying everything around you, just for the glory of it?<br/>Have you felt like  booze, drugs and fucking someones brains out is the only way to feel alive?<br/>Have you felt like a corpse that has not yet begun to decay, and embraced it?<br/>Have you craved  the power to change everything , above all else?</p><p>Well. </p><p>You’re not alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don’t own anything from Warhammer, or Games Workshop, etc. etc.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Done. I am done. I AM DONE!! I don’t get it, and I never will. It’s not my fault. They make it confusing and weird and FUCKKKKKK! I AM GOING TO SMASH EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ASSHOLE HERE. FUCK YOUR PASSWORDS, AND FUCK YOUR WORLD. I AM FUCKING DONE!!!!!</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Distraction exists as a medical necessity for most ordinary human beings, but especially for me. I am incredibly aware of the degree of delicious degradation and filth my deep reptilian brain requires, and I aim to satisfy it. The only question remains: How?</em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">Everyone dies, eventually. Yes. Everyone dies eventually but most people don’t have to know about it beforehand. Most people get to live not knowing. Some people even get to die only knowing a few days or even a few minutes beforehand. Except for me.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Well, well, well. This should be fun. Enough wondering, enough fantasizing, enough planning. It’s finally starting , and in the end, he would either have all he ever dreamed off, or…. Well really, there was no way this was not going to go exactly as planned He was sure of it.</p>
</blockquote><p>John is a bit of a sinner. At least, that’s what his mother has always said. He gets angry, and then he hits things. He finds himself in need of some soothing anesthetic to the woes of life, and he acquires some, usually in the form of prostitutes or alcohol. He does not keep a clean house, and he has been to the doctor several times for itches related to the previously mentioned prostitutes. Based on this, we can say that John’s mother is right. John is definitely a sinner. John thinks he has embraced this fact. He thinks that life has shown him the absolute depths of depravity a human being can sink to . John is wrong.</p><p>Oh and eh, John’s a cop.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Doing laundry is hard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"What do you think of this title: “Satanic cult kills 4 college-students, leave horrific murder scene in their wake!” Pretty good no?”</p><p>John hated reporters. Especially this one. “No comment Jackie.”</p><p>“Aw not even for me? You know I’m your sweetheart John! Just tell me a bit more, and I’ll get out of here.”</p><p>“Maybe after I’ve been inside for more than 5 minutes huh? How about that?</p><p>It was a normal building. A bit shabby, a bit rundown. Filled with college-students. Nothing special. Of course, Frank was there. He couldn’t escape this incompetent moron.</p><p>“Oh look, John’s here. You ready for some real voodoo shit John??”</p><p>John gave him the look, the same look every detective over 40 had. The look that claimed that nothing in this dark, depressing world, could possibly surprise the wearer of said look.</p><p>“Yeah yeah I know. But this one, I mean there is blood everywhere, and someone wrote a message on the wall and then fucked it up and I mean. Just WOW.”</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>“6<sup>th</sup> floor, to the right. The laundry room.”</p><p>Six floors up. He could take the stairs, but then, he could also stop smoking and start jogging. Frank, clearly feeling that John’s warm response was him  way of asking him to follow along, got into the elevator as well.</p><p>“You know, two other rookies have already thrown up cause of the mess in there. Not me though”</p><p>John stayed silent.</p><p>“Yeah I guess I was born to do this job. Tough as nails, that’s me. Always right there with the veterans, focused on the job. Enthusiastic but professional, that’s my brand.  “</p><p>More silence.</p><p>“What about you John? You still excited about this job?”</p><p>The elevator door opened, and John could taste the metal.</p><p>“Yeah Frank, still excited. I mean after all.”</p><p>He walked to the door of the laundry room, and took it all in.</p><p>“Where else do you get to see this type of thing?”</p><p>Laundry room might have been a bit generous. The room was about the size of a large bathroom, and had apparently once contained two laundry machines and two dryers. The remains of these machines were now scattered around the room, along with the remains of what seemed to him an unknowable amount of people. The number was hard to estimate, given the fact that the remains might more accurately described as a mountain of limbs. The walls were covered in blood, splashes here and there, but one of the walls was a bit more unique.</p><p>“What’s the story here guys?”</p><p>“Guys?”</p><p>Alice walked over, clearly intent on continuing the same argument she and John had been having for the past 10 years.  </p><p>“Forensic Team give me an update on the situation, STAT! Better?”</p><p>“Very much so.” Alice took a clipboard from one of her underlings, and became a consummate professional.</p><p>“Four different victims, three female and one male. Two black, two white.  All victims seem to have died from blunt force trauma to the head.”</p><p>“How can you tell? Matter of fact, how do you even know these are four people?” John said, looking at the mountain of body parts.</p><p>“Well we found four torsos, but more importantly, they were all from the same apartment, so it was easy to guess that it was these four.”</p><p>“they didn’t happen to have a roommate with a history of violence right&gt;”</p><p>“no such luck.”</p><p>John looked at the crime scene, and considered his options. This type of violent murder was very rare in his city. Especially one with this much evidence,  and with so little apparent reason.</p><p>“What happened with the wall over there?”</p><p>“Well whoever did this, they wrote a message on the wall, and then bashed it to pieces. We tried to figure out what it was, but all we got was the first two letters, B-L, and then a smattering of letters throughout.”</p><p>“Any idea why the killer would want to erase it?</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“Any other hints to the identity of the killer?”</p><p>“We have no shoe prints, so apparently the killer wasn’t wearing any, or he had covers on them. And there is plenty of blood in the hallway, but we found a bloody towel on the staircase, and the trial ends after that. So presumably the killer took the time to wipe the blood off himself.”</p><p>“What about fingerprints? DNA?”</p><p>Alice looked at him, and responded in the same way he usually talked to Frank.</p><p>“It’s a communal laundry room. There are literally dozens of different fingerprints, and a mountain of hairs and skin to test. Well do our best, but I doubt were going to be able to conclusively match this to anyone.</p><p>John  shook his head wearily. Lack of physical evidence basically spelled his doom nowadays. Every jury expected physical evidence, and was usually reluctant to convict without it. Things were starting off well.</p><p>“One more thing, and you are going to love me for this. Do you see the blood on the pieces of laundry machine?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Well we’ve moved some of the pieces, so we could get around the room. There was no blood underneath.”</p><p>John thought about this, and his interest in this crime increased even more.</p><p>“So, whoever bashed the machines to pieces, did so before the, for lack of a better word, slaughter, started?”</p><p>“Yup. And given that these four all lived in the apartment right next to this laundry room, we can guess that…</p><p>“They came when they heard the sound, and things escalated from there.”</p><p>“Exactly! Don’t you just love me John?</p><p>“Can’t say I love you Alice. HR was very clear about things like that. But-</p><p>John gave Alice a sly smile, filled with memories, clear and hazy, good and very bad.</p><p>“I will buy you a drink tonight. I’ll pick you up at 8?”</p><p>Alice seemed to smile back, but John could see the anger behind it. “Go fuck yourself John.”</p><p>John watched her walk off. Maybe he’d overplayed his hand.</p><p>“So, what you thinking John? Do you have it all figured out? You think this is Satanists? That’s what the press is saying.</p><p>Boy Frank knew just how to play him. If he had just asked for his thoughts, John might have just ignored him. But give him a chance to point out how stupid the press was, and John jumped up</p><p>“Oh well if Jackie say so. Look around you moron. Do you see any upside-down crosses? Any 666 on the wall, devils’ horns? No. Because there are absolutely zero signs that its anything Satanic, because as usual, JACKIE is making shit up for higher ratings.</p><p>“Why would she just make Satanists up though?</p><p>“Why? Because everyone is stuck in the past! Used to be every killer referred to himself as the devil, or the devil’s plaything or the devil’s weapon. But have you looked at the news lately? Nowadays everyone is killing because they hate Jews or Muslims or Immigrants or Christians or their co-workers. This? I think Jackie has figured out that this wasn’t for any of those reasons. But there was a message on the wall, written in blood. She knows that. Very horrific, that. At least to the average viewer of Metro News 4.So she goes back to the old classic for whenever horrific shit happens for no reason. Satanism. Which is totally moronic, as far as a motivation goes.</p><p>John gestured to the room, or rather, the whole country at large.</p><p>“ I mean, our entire country is barely religious anymore. Yeah there’s the 60% that still goes to the church sometimes,  but it isn’t universal and oppressive anymore. And that’s what satanism is all about. Its rebellion against the pervasiveness of Christianity and its morality in every facet of public life. If there’s no oppressive Christianity, why rebel with satanism? Most people in this city are going to be horrified by this crime, but they would not be MORE so if the killing was for satanic reasons. No, it’s because of the killing, the senseless killing.”</p><p>John lit his cigarette.</p><p>“So no, Satanism doesn’t make much sense.”</p><p>“Do you have any better theories?”</p><p>“Not yet, no. But I’ve been here 5 minutes, so I haven’t quite managed to get into the head of the killer just yet.</p><p>Frank considered this  for a moment, and then shook his head, like a rather dumb cow trying to get rid of some annoying flies.</p><p>“ Ah who cares what is going on in this guy’s head! We’re not going to do any behavioral psychology, criminal minds shit, and you know it. The captains very straight on these things.”</p><p> Frank started his impression:” No nonsense, no cowboy-shit, no thinking like a criminal! Think like a cop, and do your job like it. That’s how we did it back in my day, and it worked just fine for us!“</p><p> That’s amazing Frank. That sounded nothing like the captain.”</p><p> “Yeah it’s a skill alright.”</p><p>John considered his options. This whole murder didn’t look like a personal issue. Even if someone had very negative feelings about the four roommates, they would have no reason to bash the laundry machines and the dryers. It was definitely not an accident and the destruction did nothing to increase the killer chances of getting away. John was definitely still going to look into the different roommates, and their lives.</p><p>John considered the futility, but necessity, of this particular assignment.</p><p>Maybe he’d get Frank to do it. He was fairly confident that it  would turn up nothing useful. Truthfully, Jackie had already figured out the thing that made this crime relatively unique. This murder had nothing to do with personal reasons. It had something to do with that message on the walls, and the destruction of said message. Oh ,and laundry. Someone who would kill over laundry, was someone he needed to catch quickly. They would do it again, and soon. John was sure of that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dripping wet(with blood)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Why not bash it in? The note said. The note wasn’t in his handwriting. Later he swore it was, he Knew it was. The next was clear. The next one was clearly his. There is no real reason to not bash it in. Bash. That word was nice. Bash. It made him think of how he felt after bashing his toe and then bashing machines to pieces. Good. It felt good. And then. YES. His first time. Hed dreamed for so long. And he’d been right. And wrong. That quiet part of him. The part he wanted to be. It had maintained. It had insisted. “It won’t solve things.” Every time he dreamed, he desired. “It won’t make you feel better.” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The whispers were there. Always. Constantly. Whispers. NO. Wrong word. The feeling. The dream. This constant, spinning, whirling idea, ruining his life. “Everything will make sense. “Whenever he thought of killing. “It is your destiny, it’s what you’re meant for.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Destiny. Everyone told him it was a bad idea. He knew it. He wasn’t his thoughts. He controlled his behavior. He’d never hurt anyone. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>HAHAHAHHA. WELL! </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He looked at his reflection in the mirror. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He couldn’t say that anymore could he. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He was someone else now.  A killer. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>What a thing to be. A killer. He’d always seen himself as someone who was fighting the evil within. A fundamentally good person, who struggled with his dark side. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Yeah. Well. That was over. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He was a killer now. Definitely a killer. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>His first time had made him a mass murderer, but it hadn’t felt that way. It had just felt peaceful, happy. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The next note had been scary again, because it made him so happy. It’s good to bash in its skull. He agreed with it. He knew he shouldn’t, but he did. Had. Whatever. BASH IT! That’s what he wanted to scream. BASH IT! RIP AND TEAR! HAHAHAHA YES. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>This is how it went the last time. A note, He knew was from him. HE KNEW IT. It had to be from him. Had to be. Violence is always the answer. Such a simple idea. Such a nice thought. Better than his thoughts. Better than feeling confused. So much better.  Another one. HE KNEW IT WAS FROM HIM. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hed hoped it wouldn’t feel good. That hed stare at his hands, and go “what have I done?” They always did that, people like him. But it wasn’t like that. There was no more screaming, and he was happy about that. The notes were right. And then he saw the woman he was going to leave, because hed done a good thing. But then he heard her scream and she sounded like the baby, so. Well, it had felt good too. He realized it again. Killing is good. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He thought it before, during the first time. He tried that out in his mouth a few times, until he realized why it felt so wrong. Hed been raised the right way. Mom’s  god didn’t like killing. He needed a god who liked killing. And there it was. His brain fed it to him from something he heard  years ago. A god who loved killing. And from the recesses of his teenage, RTS-loving mind came the note. Blood for the Blood god.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But he tried to write it! Idiot! Stupid piece of shit. You don’t write! You kill! Every fucking site said it! Khorne doesn’t want temples or praise. He wants killing! He’d erased it with violence, he hoped it made it okay. He had to keep Khorne’s favor. He had to. How else did the police not catch him? He’d wiped himself of the blood, yes. But he took away all his laundry. He carried away it all the way down, in a giant ball of wet clothing. He didn’t drop a single sock, yes. But still! The police could just look at the schedule. They could find that he was using the laundry room. They could have found him! But they hadn’t. How had they not found him yet? It had to be the blood god. It had to be. He had to spill more blood! He had to! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!</strong>
</p>
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